


you live by echoes

by ultraviolence



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Ambiguities, F/M, Fluff and Angst, His other true loves are the Enterprise and Bones, Introspective!Kirk, Kirk also loved Edith, Kirk loves everyone, Kirk realising that Spock is and has always been his true love all along, M/M, Romantic Friendship, Star Trek Secret Santa 2016, Symbolisms, The City on the Edge of Forever, chess as a metaphor, spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 22:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8941378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultraviolence/pseuds/ultraviolence
Summary: “What if you have to choose, Spock? If you have to choose between a life you could have lived, could have had, could be happy with, and your duty, which one would you choose?” // What happened after history has been saved, this time in the Alternate timeline. Kirk-centric, oneshot, Secret Santa gift. Ambiguous!Spirk, T for some angst, set before Beyond. For caramel-raven at Tumblr.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaramelRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaramelRaven/gifts).



> I've read the original teleplay graphic novel quite a while ago (and has since reread it), and I think the image of TOS Spock looming behind TOS Kirk and Edith (who was laughing happily together) will pretty much haunt me forever. Thus the idea for this fic was born, sort of. Title quoted from [here](http://mindmagic.co.vu/post/153730969859/do-not-neglect-the-echo-you-live-by-echoes). Enjoy, and (early) Merry Christmas, Cara! <3

“ _Poised at the edge of forever, we should jump off_.” - Carl Sagan

* * *

It had been a long night.

The Gamma shift officers was in charge of the ship now—had been for several hours, actually, but Kirk scarcely noticed it. Someone else should have had the conn now, a seasoned Lieutenant Commander by the name of Ward, but instead of relinquishing his chair and called it a day, he instead dismissed Ward and told the older officer that he’s going to take _his_ shift tonight. Captain’s privilege. Kirk almost smiled wryly at the thought: privilege, and cage. 

It was strange to be on the Enterprise again, after what had happened. He had of course told his crew (his _family_ , all things considered) about the events that had taken place, via the ship’s intercom—a very brief and condensed version about it anyways—and recorded a slightly expanded version of it in his own log, but he carefully kept it impersonal. The only other person, aside from him and his XO, who knows about what actually had happened was his CMO, since he was also there, of sorts. Kirk doesn’t usually keep secrets (Bones was the one who was good at it), but two years in captaincy has taught him well. 

“Anything interesting, Ensign?” He asked the Gamma shift Communications Officer, Erica Sanchez, a tall willowy girl who looked no older than Chekov. The Ensign he addressed looks startled at the sudden question, but she has learnt enough—it certainly helps that her academic career in the Academy had been nothing short of excellent—to quickly covered it up and turned to her instruments.

“Nothing in particular, Captain. Just, er, the usual.”

“Very well,” Kirk nods, giving her a small, approving smile. The girl looks a bit relieved by the gesture. “Carry on.”

She looked as if she was about to say something, perhaps thanking him, or ask him a question (Kirk was quite familiar with the look, since it was the sort of look that he encountered almost all the time after he was promoted as Captain of the Enterprise— _the_ youngest Captain on the Fleet—although thankfully there was less of it nowadays now, after he sacrificed his life to save his ship and crew and delivered a dozen successful first contacts or so to the hands of the Federation), but she instead nods and returned her gaze to her Comm station. 

Reflexively, he looked around the bridge, and the other officers quickly averted their gaze and went back to what they were doing before the brief conversation occurs. They were really good at it, he thought, a little dryly, at looking _busy_. There wasn’t much to do on Gamma shift, since it was the graveyard shift of the ship. It was generally undesirable and usually assigned to Ensigns on their first posting. Tonight, though, it was even quieter than usual, since there is no conversation in the room—the bridge was practically silent except for the slow humming of various consoles and instrumentations, plus the spacecraft itself in the background, and there is an almost palpable tenseness in the air. Kirk thinks he knows why.

He stood up, perhaps a bit too quickly, and, as if proving his point, the rest of the bridge turned to him, by instinct. Kirk should have passed the awkward stage a long time ago, especially since he knew several of those officers personally, but at this very moment, he had to admit to himself that it was a _little_ awkward. Thankfully, he had also learnt from his captaincy about how to cover that sort of thing up.

“I think I’m going to get some coffee in the lounge,” He announced, maybe a bit too cheerfully. But it was apparently convincing (Kirk never really doubted his ability to bluff his way out of any situation, in any case), as the rest of the bridge nods and murmured their assent. It was a muted affair, and before any of them could realise that he was bluffing, Kirk excused himself.

He breathed an almost audible sigh of relief after the turbolift door closed. 

It takes a whole lot of mental gymnastics to not think about _her_ , the principle Her, blue as the sky and deep as loss, but Kirk was really good at distracting himself. Silence—the tangible silence of the graveyard shift—greeted him as he stepped outside the lift, and for a moment it threw him off.

He remembered the nights, sweet-smelling and riotous beyond imagining, the night sky looming large above them on the Brooklyn Bridge. He remembered thinking, _there are entire worlds out there_ , but instead he told her that he had never seen any celestial object as wondrous and as beautiful as her. It wasn’t lip service, because she truly looked gorgeous that night, in her sky-blue coat, a world in her own right. He remembered the way her blonde hair curled against her face, and the way her eyes twinkled when he told her that. He remembered telling her about the planets he had visited, the various races he’d encountered, the burning taste of Saurian brandy. He told her about his absent mother, his deceased father who left shoes too big too fill, and the stars. He told her all this, and then some, only to hear her laugh, like a distant wind chime in a city full of mirages. If he was breaking some sort of obscure time laws because of that, then he could care less, because Kirk had decided that the soul can’t be governed by rules, a long time ago at the edge of an actual cliff.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he told himself, breaking his own reverie, it wasn’t supposed to end like _this_. 

The Enterprise hums steadily in the background, an absent goddess, all-knowing and all-seeing. _I know_ , it seems to tell him, _I know how you feel_. _But I am yours and you are mine, and we have obligations to fulfill_. 

He signed up to Starfleet on a dare. A pointless dare uttered by a deceased senior officer who happened to know his equally dead father, in a unremarkable bar on an equally inconspicuous night. What did it earned him? A massive responsibility, an even bigger shoes to fill, and a dead mentor. 

 _But also me_ , the Enterprise seemed to say. _I am the only one you need. I am only one you love_.

 _No_ , he thought, as if his ship could hear him, _not just you_.

Someone else came to mind, almost unbidden, but always there, like a ghost, haunting the residence of his mind. _Well_ , he corrected himself, _almost_ ** _always_** _there_.

His short walk from the lift took him to the senior officers’ lounge, and before the door opens, in the split second before he entered the room, a wish came to mind—the wish that this someone, in whatever form, was there. He cannot confidently say that _he_ wished it, since the thought came to mind uninvited, or already lounging inside it, but there it was. A mere childish wish. 

He was greeted by an empty room—to both his relief and disappointment, somehow—and he made himself coffee. Obviously, the replicator could do that, perfectly well, but there is a consensus between all the human senior officers that coffee is better served with a vintage coffee maker (dated all the way back to the early 21st century), despite the obvious. In any case, the comfort of the ritual was relaxing, and Kirk found himself tapping his fingers on the table while waiting for the machine to finish churning his coffee (there was also vintage coffee, much to Sulu’s glee and Uhura’s joy, although Chekov kept repeating that vodka is much better, despite his young age). He began to relax, perceptibly, although thoughts of what had passed—what had been done, the things he could have had—still flitting around in the back of his skull, like unwanted moths. 

_her smile her voice her many kindnesses the people she helped the things she’d help created it’s unfair she deserved so much better she doesn’t belong to that barbarous age she belongs with—_

The coffee maker dings. At almost the same time, the door opens.

 _me_ , the moths finished, suddenly quieting down. “It’s funny, Spock,” He said to the newcomer, smiling and strangely feeling like it. “I was just thinking about you.”

His First Officer tilts his head slightly, still standing at the door, regarding him with what Kirk assumed was the Vulcan equivalent of “ _being amused_ ”. Although it could also mean _unamused_. Uhura was way better at Spocklish than him (he called her “the Vulcan whisperer” in his head, never out loud, of course, maybe just _once_ , accidentally, to the raucous drunk laughter of Bones) and he _only_ thought he could glimpse what’s going on in that impregnable head of his. He’d like to imagine that, if this was a classic old Earth fairytale, then Spock’s face (and his mind) was definitely the fabled dark forest that so often featured in the stories. It was dense, impenetrable and, occasionally, hinted at some elusive primordial magic. He was as unreachable as the outermost rim of the universe.

“Captain,” The half-Vulcan acknowledges, pausing slightly, “I think you were thinking about someone else.”

This was a classic, Spock-esque remark: used to send chills down Kirk’s spine (although he’d never admit it to anyone, especially not to his CMO) due to its accuracy ( _it’s almost as if he reads your mind_ , Kirk heard some of his officers whispered, _Vulcans can read minds so he probably did it at some point_ ) but now only summoned his characteristic familiar smile. 

“Why, Spock,” He told the other, confident in his ability to navigate this, “Did you read my mind? I thought Vulcans can’t do it without physical contact.”

He gave Kirk his familiar calculating look as he strode into the lounge, as if adding and subtracting a substantial number of things about this conversation in his head (he probably does, Kirk thought). Kirk kept his smile, hiding it a little by raising the coffee mug to his lips. It was a standard Starfleet mug, which he imagined is probably also part of the Academy acceptance package to young cadets (although they are _not_ that much younger than him, to his dismay—the bright side to this is that the age gap between him and newly-minted Ensigns was steadily growing), even though someone had doodled a little smiling face on the insignia. On any other ship, it was probably considered as (very) minor act of vandalism, but Kirk did not give such things that much thought. Being a Captain, in his philosophy, obviously means more than punishing his crew for a little fun. Captain’s privilege.

“I believe you were thinking about them—in the human term—very loudly.”

Bones would have grilled him alive on the basis that he said ‘I believe’, but Kirk was after a different species of fish. He raised an eyebrow, took a sip of his coffee (it was good), and maintained his amused expression. It wasn’t quite hard to be amused, with his First Officer.

“Really? What am I thinking about?” His smile widened, offering a challenge to Spock. His Science Officer raised an eyebrow at him in return, sitting in front of a three-dimensional chess set piece. 

“The question should be _who_ , Captain. I thought I have made it quite obvious.” He shot Kirk a look, then, after a period of silence between them, moved a piece on the board—a pawn in front of the Queen. A risky move.

“Well,” He challenged right back, sitting down across him, moving his own pawn. “Who is it?”

The other looked him straight in the eye, still with one eyebrow raised. He moved another pawn. Kirk mentally noted the fact that he left his Queen wide open. “I think you know who I mean, Captain.”

Afterwards, there is silence between them, as wide and intrinsic as all the Universes, spread like a map, the language of beginnings and endings. Kirk let out a small cough, making another move, not going for a checkmate but instead trying to make _Spock_ go for a checkmate. “Well, _I_ think you left your Queen quite exposed, Spock.”

What transpires next in the Vulcan’s expression might have been a smile, or it might have been a grimace, or something else entirely, so imperceptible as it was. Kirk imagined that Uhura has possibly decoded them all, patiently, months after months, cataloguing them like the scientists of old cataloguing celestial objects. Patience has always been her strong suit. It wasn’t his. He pressed on.

“Why are you still awake?”

Spock regarded him coolly, his next move on the board as indiscernible as his expression. Kirk knows immediately what he’s after, but chose to play the fool. 

“I could ask you the same question, Jim.”

The shift from _Captain_ to _Jim_ was subtle but laden with meaning, and his mind immediately went to his coffee—even his own _mind_ was good at distracting himself—now cold. Kirk chose to ignore it, and attempted to pretend to chose his next move—rook up, going after the pawn Spock deployed before—very carefully. He sized up his opponent.

“Captain’s privilege,” He cited, smiling at his own inside joke. Spock—imperceptible, untouchable, in many ways like the stars itself—merely stared at him stoically, eyebrow raised at a certain angle, an obscure language that only Uhura and Bones speak. Although he had come to think of the other as _friend_ and maybe some other word that his thoughts blurred on purpose, at times such as these (and indeed a lot of times), Kirk felt as if he could never truly know the other. His expression was as guarded as the rest of him, and he can’t help but compared _him_ , this strange alien man in front of him, mentally, to the woman he’d just lost. To the love— _life_ —that he could have had. 

“Am I supposed to think,” Spock’s voice was even, betraying nothing, as his fingers moved across the board—a _musician’s_ fingers, Kirk noted, strangely, maybe in another universe, “That you were awake at this hour, despite the fact that Lieutenant Ward was supposed to be on duty, because it is simply within your privilege as the commanding officer of this starship? Forgive me, Captain, but I found that most illogical.”

Kirk finally caught a—recently familiar—subtext of concern, maybe _several_ subtexts, but he gave nothing away. Two can play this game.

“Ah, Spock, you know me well enough by now,” He grinned, an image of confidence in every way, “You know that I’m not one for logic.”

“Untrue,” His XO stated, expressionlessly moving another piece. “Checkmate. You acted logically during our last mission together. Human beings aren’t the only species with pattern recognition skills.”

“You looked good with a beanie,” Kirk remarked lightly, letting the checkmate roll off him. “You should keep the style. It suits you.”

“Starfleet regulation stated—“

“I _know_ what Starfleet regulation said. I memorised them just as much as you do. Don’t be a stick in the mud, Spock.”

“It’s logical since the other option presented implied that I should be mud.”

“Now,” Kirk checkmated his First Officer in turn, casually, his diversion tactic working, “You’re talking.”

There are several moments of silence before the half-Vulcan speaks again. The artificial night had passed its deadest hour, and the lights in the room reflected that. Kirk’s coffee had gone cold since a while ago. Dawn is coming. 

“Jim,” The other started, a certain emotion edging on his otherwise stoic expression. “You’ve been thinking about _her_. I heard.”

He could feel his heart contracted at _her_ , then closing in on itself, collapsing, a star with not enough fuel to go supernova. He clenches his fist, almost enough to break the chess piece he was holding. He doesn’t look at his friend—brother, something else, _irreplaceable_ —when he speaks. He couldn’t.

“And how does that makes you _feel_? Spock, it’s not your business to peek around in my thoughts, and you know it. I thought we’ve _talked_ about it.”

His Queen was still exposed, a planet without a moon. Kirk felt as if it could be a metaphor for something. But he’s not much of a poet. Maybe in another universe.

“Captain—“ The half-Vulcan started, then stopped. “ _Jim_. I do apologise if I have encroached upon your privacy without your permission. I cannot say I know how you feel, however—“ He stopped again, something flickering in his eyes for a moment. A trick of the light, Kirk thought. He suddenly felt so tired. “I have lost my planet. I offered you condolences for your loss, as well.”

 _Losses_ , he thought to himself. It’s not just Edith he lost, it was also Pike, his father (that he’d never get to know), his mother. His crewmen and -women. His childish naiveté that he somehow could keep everyone safe, could keep anyone from losing a parental figure like he did or a child or a sibling. It was all wishful thinking. He unclenches his fist

“It wasn’t just her,” He said, a little too loud, a bit too honest, but at this point, he could care less. He wasn’t Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation Starship Enterprise anymore, unconquerable and indomitable, he was just Jim Kirk, and he was tired. Moreover—he was _empty_. “It was also a life I could have had. I was _this_ close. Spock, have you ever imagined…?”

He left the rest unsaid, because Spock doesn’t need an established mental connection to fill in the blanks. Kirk shifted his gaze to the wide observation window beside them. The stars raced past them, a steady stream of silvery celestial fish, distant enough that their light was barely perceptible. As a boy, he used to go to the wide road that leads to the cornfields, just so he could look up at them. There was something reassuring and stately about them, something that, he’d like to think, also influenced his decision to join Starfleet. 

“Sometimes,” His XO admitted, after a pregnant silence between them, much to Kirk’s surprise. “I have tried to gain information from the other Spock regarding his own timeline, but he wasn’t much of a help, I’m afraid.”

“What if you have to choose, Spock?” He asked, after another fairly significant delay, the weight of their conversation—and what they’d went through, _together_ —pressing in on them, lying around them like landmines. “If you have to choose between a life you could have lived, could have had, could be _happy_ with, and your duty, which one would you choose?”

He had heard Spock’s answer—not to this specific question, but might as well be the answer to this particular question he’s asking—before, and he knows that the other might give him some variant of _that_ , which Kirk had to admit he wasn’t particularly looking forward to, but he wanted— _craved_ —the half-Vulcan’s honesty. The missions they went through after Nibiru—after Khan, after Vengeance, after Admiral Marcus, after Kirk’s death and eventual resurrection—had reshaped them, he was certain, although after whose image, he wasn’t quite sure. Maybe they’ll never find out. But in this moment, he wanted Spock’s insight, _honesty_.

“A hard question, Captain,” Spock shuffles his knight down, although Kirk had stopped playing. “But not impossible to answer. Before…my planet’s destruction, before… _your_ death, I would have said that I’d choose duty, without any doubt. But in the aftermath of such events, I found it hard to say the same thing.”

 _Then what would you have chosen?_ , Kirk asked in his mind, instinctively. 

 _You_ , the answer was immediate, delivered in a calm, clear voice, ringing as clear as the steady trickle of a stream. It was breathtaking in its honesty, in its absolute certainty. Kirk found himself smiling without meaning to, his heart reshaping itself into another star. The parade of the stars outside kept marching on, endlessly, timelessly. The lights in the lounge lightened up a bit, heralding the arrival of dawn in the ship. He hadn’t returned to the bridge after his supposed coffee run, but he doesn’t care. He knows that they could handle things without him, and it was probably for the best.

He truly understood now where he belonged. 

“Then I have made the right choice.” He remarked with finality, moving his own Queen. Spock dispatched it from the board with dispassionate certainty.

“Duty is always the right choice,” The half-Vulcan said, with perhaps a hint of a smile. “And I have learnt that it sometimes _intersects_ with other things.” 

The nights he spent with Edith in New York flashed on his mind, an exquisite show of fireworks, or perhaps a tapestry of memories, like the photographs they used to keep in the past centuries. Deep down inside Kirk knew: It wasn’t meant to last. She was a ghost, in a sky full of ghosts—but _this_ : this ship, this chessboard, this lounge, this person he’d come to be so fond and familiar with, the man that he’d grown to love and respect tremendously, was real. And it was enough.

“That,” He said, finally, at peace with himself, “Is something I can agree with.”

_**FIN** _

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm no good at chess, and I actually can't play it (much less 3D chess), so forgive me if I made any mistakes, lol. Take it (and the conversation) between Kirk and Spock as you will. Personally, I've always loved the idea that they've mindmelded at some point in the Alt timeline, too. Anyway, Cara, sorry if this isn't quite what you're looking for! I know you asked for pure Spirk fluff :/ hope this is to your liking, though. Thanks again for reading, and comments & suggestions welcome! xx


End file.
